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Yesterday morning, I told my girlfriend about a dream so filthy, I was afraid she’d leave me. She looked at me with a look I’ve never seen, and walked out. I spent the whole day crying. By the time she came back, that evening, I was all cried out - shaky and fragile as glass.

I opened the door, and was shocked to see her, but even more shocked to see her wearing one of his shirts. She gently but firmly turned me around and shoved me against the wall, her hand finding my clit, just as the overwhelming scent of his aftershave hit me like a steam train.

She whispered in my ear, her voice as deep as she could make it. “Tell me what you want, boogabear.”

I was weeping, my body racked with every sob. It was all too intense, in every possible way. Her fingers worked my panties aside, and I gasped and choked as I felt the hardness of a strapon pushing against my pussy - we’d never done that before. “F-fuck me, daddy. I’m sorry I’m a lezzie. A fucking… dyke… whore.” She started to thrust, each one punctuated with a deep grunt. “Oh god. Please fuck me straight, daddy.”